I want to apologize now,
this instant!
For every wrong
I have ever committed,
every last slender feeling
of yours,
anyone's!
I may have hurt
And to apologize for every
betrayal and abuse
ever inflicted by one human being
upon another
from the very dawn of homo sapiens
and into the future ...
Furthermore, I accept!
all the unspoken and still perhaps unseen apologies
perhaps due
to me
I forgive you on my own behalf
You, me and everyone else
for
Every snide remark
or forgetting to listen, or driving too fast,
Every lie and misunderstanding
Every slight or monumental
transgression
against the tender
and unshakable
Truth
of Who We Are.
One Thing.
I know that your delicate
and tender heart,
solid, liquid, gas
was born from the Self same
womb
as mine.
That beneath all our
preposterous exteriors
we so simply want
to Love
& be Loved.
As vulnerable,
as new born as the
damp unfolding
Monarch
How many kisses,
words of truth,
hours of listening,
sweet smiles,
firm "No's"
and shared silences
...
will it take
to restore you to
your Monarchy?
If I do not touch
you roughly
If I warm you with my breath
You may still fly
We may all still fly and
I believe
it is our
destiny
to do so.
And so, I will try,
again and again
to surrender to Love.
I may look
like an ordinary housewife
but every evening
for years and years
this has been my
wish upon a star
So be it.
You are loved.
And in the end, you may find you never needed me at all.
(Oh, but I do need you so!)
Showing posts with label forgiveness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label forgiveness. Show all posts
Friday, January 20, 2012
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Some Observations on Grief
Is there a “way” to grieve? Is our grieving influenced by what we think grieving should be? Are “stages” of grief true or even necessary?
I have been noticing the process of grief within myself since my father died, and actually, the sadness and feelings of loss started even before he died.
This process has not been what I expected, although I’m not sure I was actively expecting anything at all. I guess it’s not been what I expected given the way our society generally portrays grief.
A few days ago, a dear friend called to express condolences and we began a conversation about all of this. He suggested to me that my thoughts might be helpful to others who are dealing with grief. At first I thought, “Oh, it’s too early to put anything up about Dad’s death,” (he passed May 3) but then I realized that it didn’t feel wrong to me to do so … It felt wrong because of what “people might think.”
This ignited in me a sort of rebellious reaction to what I now see as societal thoughts and mores around grief. And so, I have decided to go ahead and post (!)
… My hope is that these reflections might help others who have perhaps come to find their grief unbearable and stifling.
Notes on Grief
Especially, somehow, over these last weeks, I have noticed the deep logic of Thought—of those Principles, Mind, Consciousness and Thought at work—as different flavors of “grief” wash over me.
I am discovering that, at least for me, to “grieve” … to experience the death of someone close, is much more varied than what I imagined. I am not experiencing “stages,” I am experiencing various thoughts, and the feelings that accompany them. My Stepmom, and Dad’s new widow, has been calling these “waves” or “surges.”
For example,
The thought: “I am so grateful to have had such a Father” brings with it its own set of feelings that are sometimes tearful, but also rich, and life affirming. I can well up with gratitude, and feel so very, very lucky.
The thought: “I will never do x, y or z with Dad again” brings the flood of “loss,” and even then, interesting to note, these thoughts are not actually related to the present moment, but to an imagined, or projected future, an imagined scene without Dad in it.
The thought: “I wish I had never done that/said that to him,” and the pain of regret slices through me.
The thoughts: “I am so glad I had a chance to do that/say that to him. To help him [in some way] … to be there for his dying,” bring the feelings of satisfaction, and gratitude again.
The thought: “He is gone now!” Bereavement. Something close to anguish.
The thought: “He will always be with me; he is in my soul, now, even in my very cells” and I feel Whole, I feel the sacred connectedness of life, of two souls who did love one another, and the eternal fruit of such love.
I went walking through the park, alone, late in the evening on the day of my father’s death. The clouds were closing up on lighter areas of the sky, in the west, where the sun had gone down. So there were silvers, grays, blacks, a background luminosity to the sky before the darkness of night. And I started to cry, thinking of Dad. I cried for some time, but it was not a crying I needed to stop, or even be comforted about. The crying was rooted in my love for Dad—I was crying over the beauty of the sky, the beauty of Relationship, the sacred passing of a Soul. It was sadness and joy all mixed together.
Later that night, I got a call from a dear, old friend. She was crying a “hard” kind of crying, it seemed. She told me she was angry about cancer. Several friends or people she knew had died from it. I shared with her that although I had been crying a lot that day, there was a safety in my crying, and that safety came from a kind of rootedness in Love. Like, yes, I could cry and mourn and be bereaved, but when I settled into the underlying current of Love there, I was safe within all of these emotions. I could allow them to come … and also, just as importantly, to go.
I must admit, there are times even now, with the death so recent, when I am not thinking of my father or his death at all!
When I go out in public, or get on the phone, people ask me:
“How are you?”
And they tell me,
“I’m so sorry … “
And these are, of course, common and appropriate comments from well wishers.
However, I can certainly say that there are times when I have been completely fine, good, even. Sometimes, I feel a great joy and freedom that seems related to the freedom of spirit I imagine for Dad now. There is also a new freedom in my life that is directly connected to his passing.
And when someone asks me, “How are you? … I am so sorry,” I remember that I am “supposed” to feel a certain way, as a member of this society (“death” is a bad thing) and so I try to look somber and tell the only truth I can in that moment without seeming to be disrespectful, or an unloving daughter: “Oh well, you know, I am up and down.” True enough.
There were so many aspects of my father’s death that were actually positive and uplifting. I shared this with another dear, old friend who called during my father’s dying, and she said, “Well, we can intellectualize it, or spiritualize it, but it is still difficult.”
I know my friend was simply trying to help me access my “real” feelings—to "let them out," as we say. And in many cases, this may be necessary. But truly, in that moment when she asked, the dying did not feel difficult. I want to honor that truth for me. Death and dying do not have to be difficult. They often are, but they don’t have to be.
Essentially, what I have discovered is that there is no one way to grieve. There are no rules. We get many ideas about death and grieving from society “out there.” The truest Truth for me, however, is always what I experience through direct observation: I have a thought, I have a feeling. I have sad moments, I have grateful moments, I have regretful moments, I have feelings of deep love and peace.
At times, I am overcome with an emotion, a feeling of flatness or sadness, without being able to identify any underlying thought. I accept this as just another current of feeling. I know Thought is there, perhaps subconscious, but I do not need to dig it up and find it. Eventually, this too shall pass.
For my Dad’s wife, in particular, I understand that there is “breaking up of a shared energy field” in the home, in the space (I got this phrase from the book, “The Light of Discovery” by Toni Packer, in her chapter on Grieving). That field must feel broken, a part of it gone, in the entire shared life, and that must feel like a giant vacuum at first. There are habits and activities that were always undertaken with “the Other.” There were perhaps future plans and dreams.
Unlike my Father’s death, which was, I suppose, “expected,” others die suddenly, younger, their deaths fly in the face of all reason, logic and expectation. Perhaps there has been a suicide. I can see how this kind of death would bring up all sorts of intense thoughts and reactions.
At the same time, I am sure that gentle, grateful, hopeful, connected thoughts are still available to survivors … in all cases. There is still the capacity to focus on what was learned and gained from the relationship, what still exists for us, how that person does indeed live forever within us. There is still the capacity to reach for and achieve forgiveness for oneself and for the One who has passed. It is never too late for love.
I read a quote in one book from a family member/survivor, who said, “They are in my DNA!”
Beneath all our thoughts of pain, of the future, of regret, guilt or loneliness, lies the deep, quiet, eternal Love for the Other … the true Relationship that cannot be lost. This Love has no capacity to hurt, it can only heal.
Can we give ourselves permission to go deeply into this Love and begin to understand that we have truly lost nothing?
The great beauty of my Father, Roger Clark Mills (now resting in peace), is that he shared with me the most valuable thing on this great planet earth—-peace of mind.
For the first two weeks after his death, I had a hard time “motivating,” getting anything done. I was tired, I was sad, depressed, whatever. Then, I had a moment in my backyard. The sun was out, the grass had just been cut. Bees were buzzing, and I finally took the time to just sit down in a lawn chair.
Looking out on the scene, my mind became still. It was then that I felt him ... Dad. This was the space he so cherished, and a space we often shared. This was his greatest gift to me, to know what is valuable and real in this mixed up world—-peace of mind.
Within peace of mind, we can feel grateful for anything. Within peace of mind, we come into what all Loved Ones truly want for us after their passing. And somehow, within peace of mind, we share in an energy that includes them still.
With Love,
Your Mystical Mama
I have been noticing the process of grief within myself since my father died, and actually, the sadness and feelings of loss started even before he died.
This process has not been what I expected, although I’m not sure I was actively expecting anything at all. I guess it’s not been what I expected given the way our society generally portrays grief.
A few days ago, a dear friend called to express condolences and we began a conversation about all of this. He suggested to me that my thoughts might be helpful to others who are dealing with grief. At first I thought, “Oh, it’s too early to put anything up about Dad’s death,” (he passed May 3) but then I realized that it didn’t feel wrong to me to do so … It felt wrong because of what “people might think.”
This ignited in me a sort of rebellious reaction to what I now see as societal thoughts and mores around grief. And so, I have decided to go ahead and post (!)
… My hope is that these reflections might help others who have perhaps come to find their grief unbearable and stifling.
Notes on Grief
Especially, somehow, over these last weeks, I have noticed the deep logic of Thought—of those Principles, Mind, Consciousness and Thought at work—as different flavors of “grief” wash over me.
I am discovering that, at least for me, to “grieve” … to experience the death of someone close, is much more varied than what I imagined. I am not experiencing “stages,” I am experiencing various thoughts, and the feelings that accompany them. My Stepmom, and Dad’s new widow, has been calling these “waves” or “surges.”
For example,
The thought: “I am so grateful to have had such a Father” brings with it its own set of feelings that are sometimes tearful, but also rich, and life affirming. I can well up with gratitude, and feel so very, very lucky.
The thought: “I will never do x, y or z with Dad again” brings the flood of “loss,” and even then, interesting to note, these thoughts are not actually related to the present moment, but to an imagined, or projected future, an imagined scene without Dad in it.
The thought: “I wish I had never done that/said that to him,” and the pain of regret slices through me.
The thoughts: “I am so glad I had a chance to do that/say that to him. To help him [in some way] … to be there for his dying,” bring the feelings of satisfaction, and gratitude again.
The thought: “He is gone now!” Bereavement. Something close to anguish.
The thought: “He will always be with me; he is in my soul, now, even in my very cells” and I feel Whole, I feel the sacred connectedness of life, of two souls who did love one another, and the eternal fruit of such love.
I went walking through the park, alone, late in the evening on the day of my father’s death. The clouds were closing up on lighter areas of the sky, in the west, where the sun had gone down. So there were silvers, grays, blacks, a background luminosity to the sky before the darkness of night. And I started to cry, thinking of Dad. I cried for some time, but it was not a crying I needed to stop, or even be comforted about. The crying was rooted in my love for Dad—I was crying over the beauty of the sky, the beauty of Relationship, the sacred passing of a Soul. It was sadness and joy all mixed together.
Later that night, I got a call from a dear, old friend. She was crying a “hard” kind of crying, it seemed. She told me she was angry about cancer. Several friends or people she knew had died from it. I shared with her that although I had been crying a lot that day, there was a safety in my crying, and that safety came from a kind of rootedness in Love. Like, yes, I could cry and mourn and be bereaved, but when I settled into the underlying current of Love there, I was safe within all of these emotions. I could allow them to come … and also, just as importantly, to go.
I must admit, there are times even now, with the death so recent, when I am not thinking of my father or his death at all!
When I go out in public, or get on the phone, people ask me:
“How are you?”
And they tell me,
“I’m so sorry … “
And these are, of course, common and appropriate comments from well wishers.
However, I can certainly say that there are times when I have been completely fine, good, even. Sometimes, I feel a great joy and freedom that seems related to the freedom of spirit I imagine for Dad now. There is also a new freedom in my life that is directly connected to his passing.
And when someone asks me, “How are you? … I am so sorry,” I remember that I am “supposed” to feel a certain way, as a member of this society (“death” is a bad thing) and so I try to look somber and tell the only truth I can in that moment without seeming to be disrespectful, or an unloving daughter: “Oh well, you know, I am up and down.” True enough.
There were so many aspects of my father’s death that were actually positive and uplifting. I shared this with another dear, old friend who called during my father’s dying, and she said, “Well, we can intellectualize it, or spiritualize it, but it is still difficult.”
I know my friend was simply trying to help me access my “real” feelings—to "let them out," as we say. And in many cases, this may be necessary. But truly, in that moment when she asked, the dying did not feel difficult. I want to honor that truth for me. Death and dying do not have to be difficult. They often are, but they don’t have to be.
Essentially, what I have discovered is that there is no one way to grieve. There are no rules. We get many ideas about death and grieving from society “out there.” The truest Truth for me, however, is always what I experience through direct observation: I have a thought, I have a feeling. I have sad moments, I have grateful moments, I have regretful moments, I have feelings of deep love and peace.
At times, I am overcome with an emotion, a feeling of flatness or sadness, without being able to identify any underlying thought. I accept this as just another current of feeling. I know Thought is there, perhaps subconscious, but I do not need to dig it up and find it. Eventually, this too shall pass.
For my Dad’s wife, in particular, I understand that there is “breaking up of a shared energy field” in the home, in the space (I got this phrase from the book, “The Light of Discovery” by Toni Packer, in her chapter on Grieving). That field must feel broken, a part of it gone, in the entire shared life, and that must feel like a giant vacuum at first. There are habits and activities that were always undertaken with “the Other.” There were perhaps future plans and dreams.
Unlike my Father’s death, which was, I suppose, “expected,” others die suddenly, younger, their deaths fly in the face of all reason, logic and expectation. Perhaps there has been a suicide. I can see how this kind of death would bring up all sorts of intense thoughts and reactions.
At the same time, I am sure that gentle, grateful, hopeful, connected thoughts are still available to survivors … in all cases. There is still the capacity to focus on what was learned and gained from the relationship, what still exists for us, how that person does indeed live forever within us. There is still the capacity to reach for and achieve forgiveness for oneself and for the One who has passed. It is never too late for love.
I read a quote in one book from a family member/survivor, who said, “They are in my DNA!”
Beneath all our thoughts of pain, of the future, of regret, guilt or loneliness, lies the deep, quiet, eternal Love for the Other … the true Relationship that cannot be lost. This Love has no capacity to hurt, it can only heal.
Can we give ourselves permission to go deeply into this Love and begin to understand that we have truly lost nothing?
The great beauty of my Father, Roger Clark Mills (now resting in peace), is that he shared with me the most valuable thing on this great planet earth—-peace of mind.
For the first two weeks after his death, I had a hard time “motivating,” getting anything done. I was tired, I was sad, depressed, whatever. Then, I had a moment in my backyard. The sun was out, the grass had just been cut. Bees were buzzing, and I finally took the time to just sit down in a lawn chair.
Looking out on the scene, my mind became still. It was then that I felt him ... Dad. This was the space he so cherished, and a space we often shared. This was his greatest gift to me, to know what is valuable and real in this mixed up world—-peace of mind.
Within peace of mind, we can feel grateful for anything. Within peace of mind, we come into what all Loved Ones truly want for us after their passing. And somehow, within peace of mind, we share in an energy that includes them still.
With Love,
Your Mystical Mama
Saturday, May 15, 2010
On the Death Bed II
"Intimacy is just unconditional Love, seeing the innocence in the Other."
--Roger Clark Mills
--Roger Clark Mills
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Innocence & Forgiveness
We celebrate several sets of holidays around here ... the traditional American & Christian-based holidays, Jewish holidays and Chinese holidays. Every day is practically a holiday!
At Christmas-time, I talk to the children about Jesus and what I see as his essential message of Love & forgiveness. Alia (age 5) heard my little song and dance about Jesus over a light breakfast this year, and then said: "That's a good story."
There is a beautiful passage in A Course in Miracles that re-interprets the message of the crucifixion. Rather than being about the death of a son in "sacrifice" (how similar to ancient traditions of sacrificing animals, humans, etc. to God or various Gods) .... the message is rather about how one who, faced with the ultimate undeserved attack upon his body, his person, his name ... taught the message of forgiveness in the final moments before his, at least bodily, death.
How is it then, that we, when faced with slights and injuries of much less significant proportions, can so easily become enraged and vengeful? Toni Packer, in the somewhat obscure but revealing little book The Light of Discovery, describes many of our daily encounters as: "you say something that hurts the image I have of myself, and I say something back that hurts your image of yourself ..." (and she notes, "if that is all that is going on, nothing is learned.")
As a suburban Mom, I like to look at these grander themes through the lens of daily life. What does forgiveness mean with children, spouses, partners? Teachers? Relatives? Drivers on our commutes ... and other possibly troublesome folks?
How can we see the innocence in one another, "turn the other cheek" as it were? I am certainly no expert and could easily list a few people I have not quite, fully, er, forgiven. At the top of the list, probably, would be Me.
On Christmas Day, I happened to have scored with a nice gift for my husband, a set of very tall liquor glasses on thin stems--each a different shape and brilliant color. I had hoped ... and he actually liked them more than I expected he would. And then there was the moment when, in all of her excitement, our Alia reached quickly across the dining table to grab one of her presents and broke a glass--beyond repair.
My husband got angry. Why? He liked the present, actually, had already become somewhat attached. He interpreted Alia's actions as being linked to a kind of hyper-ness she sometimes gets into (a possible long term problem? ... worry, concern, are we parenting all wrong?) and spoke in stern tones to her about "moving too fast," and now look what happened, etc.
Alia burst into tears after a second or two of silent processing, and then went running to her room to ball herself up in blankets and be upset for a good while. Now it was my turn: I could get upset at my husband for over-reacting, for possibly marring our young child's Christmas Day, etc. etc. I had worked so hard to make a nice day for us all, and I saw the breaking of the glass as no big deal.
But by the Grace of God I saw instead my husband's innocence. I understood the reasons--rational or not--why he got upset (as listed above); and most importantly, I saw the seeds of all his reasons in myself. My heart went out to him (along with my daughter). I get attached to things too, I judge our daughter too, I worry about her future, too. How could I throw the first stone?
So, I let it rest. I helped Alia come back to our really quite lovely Day. My husband settled down and apologized to her. And I was relieved that I had not added more judgment and pain to the judgment and pain that had already occurred.
I say "by the Grace of God" because I am honestly not always so good at forgiveness.
I also realize that other sorts of slights are perhaps harder to forgive. Victims of physical attacks, of war and other sorts of violence ...
I am clear, however, that if we cannot learn to overcome these small, seemingly mundane incidents, the larger ones will go on and on in their endless and furious cycles.
The mysterious doors between life and death are opening around me now (in my circle of friends, in my family) ... Like the holidays, it's a time for reflection on what's important. And if Jesus was right, those things are Love & forgiveness. I think, in the end, they are really One.
As we are really One. Without Love & forgiveness our Oneness cannot be known and felt.
And our Oneness is ultimately that which is Eternal.
Do you have a story or thought on Love & forgiveness? If so, please share in "comments" ...
With Love,
Your Mystical Mama
At Christmas-time, I talk to the children about Jesus and what I see as his essential message of Love & forgiveness. Alia (age 5) heard my little song and dance about Jesus over a light breakfast this year, and then said: "That's a good story."
There is a beautiful passage in A Course in Miracles that re-interprets the message of the crucifixion. Rather than being about the death of a son in "sacrifice" (how similar to ancient traditions of sacrificing animals, humans, etc. to God or various Gods) .... the message is rather about how one who, faced with the ultimate undeserved attack upon his body, his person, his name ... taught the message of forgiveness in the final moments before his, at least bodily, death.
How is it then, that we, when faced with slights and injuries of much less significant proportions, can so easily become enraged and vengeful? Toni Packer, in the somewhat obscure but revealing little book The Light of Discovery, describes many of our daily encounters as: "you say something that hurts the image I have of myself, and I say something back that hurts your image of yourself ..." (and she notes, "if that is all that is going on, nothing is learned.")
As a suburban Mom, I like to look at these grander themes through the lens of daily life. What does forgiveness mean with children, spouses, partners? Teachers? Relatives? Drivers on our commutes ... and other possibly troublesome folks?
How can we see the innocence in one another, "turn the other cheek" as it were? I am certainly no expert and could easily list a few people I have not quite, fully, er, forgiven. At the top of the list, probably, would be Me.
On Christmas Day, I happened to have scored with a nice gift for my husband, a set of very tall liquor glasses on thin stems--each a different shape and brilliant color. I had hoped ... and he actually liked them more than I expected he would. And then there was the moment when, in all of her excitement, our Alia reached quickly across the dining table to grab one of her presents and broke a glass--beyond repair.
My husband got angry. Why? He liked the present, actually, had already become somewhat attached. He interpreted Alia's actions as being linked to a kind of hyper-ness she sometimes gets into (a possible long term problem? ... worry, concern, are we parenting all wrong?) and spoke in stern tones to her about "moving too fast," and now look what happened, etc.
Alia burst into tears after a second or two of silent processing, and then went running to her room to ball herself up in blankets and be upset for a good while. Now it was my turn: I could get upset at my husband for over-reacting, for possibly marring our young child's Christmas Day, etc. etc. I had worked so hard to make a nice day for us all, and I saw the breaking of the glass as no big deal.
But by the Grace of God I saw instead my husband's innocence. I understood the reasons--rational or not--why he got upset (as listed above); and most importantly, I saw the seeds of all his reasons in myself. My heart went out to him (along with my daughter). I get attached to things too, I judge our daughter too, I worry about her future, too. How could I throw the first stone?
So, I let it rest. I helped Alia come back to our really quite lovely Day. My husband settled down and apologized to her. And I was relieved that I had not added more judgment and pain to the judgment and pain that had already occurred.
I say "by the Grace of God" because I am honestly not always so good at forgiveness.
I also realize that other sorts of slights are perhaps harder to forgive. Victims of physical attacks, of war and other sorts of violence ...
I am clear, however, that if we cannot learn to overcome these small, seemingly mundane incidents, the larger ones will go on and on in their endless and furious cycles.
The mysterious doors between life and death are opening around me now (in my circle of friends, in my family) ... Like the holidays, it's a time for reflection on what's important. And if Jesus was right, those things are Love & forgiveness. I think, in the end, they are really One.
As we are really One. Without Love & forgiveness our Oneness cannot be known and felt.
And our Oneness is ultimately that which is Eternal.
Do you have a story or thought on Love & forgiveness? If so, please share in "comments" ...
With Love,
Your Mystical Mama
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Praying to Love
Love!
Come, come and show me
how it is to See without seeing
the Soul of another
as
My Soul
Teach me how to
Trust You
For how I shall be clothed,
for where I shall eat and sleep
… for every Next Thing
show me how
You are Provision
Love!
Fill me with that ecstasy
unknown to the “outer” world
… which can do no harm
Show me how to stand with Courage
and still to Love
To speak my Peace
and still to Love
Show me how to BE my Peace
to be my Ease
Show me how Safe and Free are
One
Show me how You are Everything
And all
That is needed.
(I have been told
that I am already Yours …)
Take me!
Monday, August 4, 2008
Encounter with Ma & Pa Forgiveness
A while back, I had the excellent fortune of meeting with forgiveness authors Jerry Jampolsky and Diane Cirincione (they are married.) Jampolsky is famous for the book "Love is Letting Go of Fear" and he and Diane have now authored quite a few books together--as well as serving as mentors to various centers, based on forgiveness and related ideas, around the world.
They gave me their full, sunlit attention. I felt bathed in love and interest. And when I left they plied my hands full of their books, each of which they had signed especially for me.
It got me thinking about forgiveness, of course. First, there's that word, to Fore-give. To me that means that I give my gift to you before you give anything to me. Perhaps I feel that you have damaged me in some way in the past ... you have abused, or are now merely irritating me.
Rather than wait for you to help me feel better, I give you the gift of helping myself to feel better. I could wait forever for you to help me feel better, actually. And on the day I die, the jury might still be out.
But if I give you the gift of:
Hey, you are just a human being.
We all make mistakes.
Maybe I have not seen this correctly.
Maybe there is something good inside of you after all.
We are all in the same boat.
What can I enjoy about you now?
Then I have given myself my peace of mind back ... and I have given you the freedom (at least in my presence) to do the same.
We are afraid to fore-give, because the implication is that if we give something, we end up with less of something. How about less misery and suffering?
I think that's the idea the good old Bible was trying to turn around with: "To give is to receive." When we give up our grievance, when we give our forgiveness, my goodness, do we ever feel a whole lot better! Let the receiving begin!
When my grandmother was getting ready to pass away, I read her some short passages out of the Jampolsky/Cirincione books. She said,
"The hardest person to forgive is yourself."
Oh yes. Isn't that they key?
So here is my Fore-gift to you:
You are just a human being, my friend.
We all make mistakes.
Isn't it wonderful that we are all in this same damn leaky and imperfect boat,
Together?
Now,
Where's the luau?
With love,
From your Mystical Mama
They gave me their full, sunlit attention. I felt bathed in love and interest. And when I left they plied my hands full of their books, each of which they had signed especially for me.
It got me thinking about forgiveness, of course. First, there's that word, to Fore-give. To me that means that I give my gift to you before you give anything to me. Perhaps I feel that you have damaged me in some way in the past ... you have abused, or are now merely irritating me.
Rather than wait for you to help me feel better, I give you the gift of helping myself to feel better. I could wait forever for you to help me feel better, actually. And on the day I die, the jury might still be out.
But if I give you the gift of:
Hey, you are just a human being.
We all make mistakes.
Maybe I have not seen this correctly.
Maybe there is something good inside of you after all.
We are all in the same boat.
What can I enjoy about you now?
Then I have given myself my peace of mind back ... and I have given you the freedom (at least in my presence) to do the same.
We are afraid to fore-give, because the implication is that if we give something, we end up with less of something. How about less misery and suffering?
I think that's the idea the good old Bible was trying to turn around with: "To give is to receive." When we give up our grievance, when we give our forgiveness, my goodness, do we ever feel a whole lot better! Let the receiving begin!
When my grandmother was getting ready to pass away, I read her some short passages out of the Jampolsky/Cirincione books. She said,
"The hardest person to forgive is yourself."
Oh yes. Isn't that they key?
So here is my Fore-gift to you:
You are just a human being, my friend.
We all make mistakes.
Isn't it wonderful that we are all in this same damn leaky and imperfect boat,
Together?
Now,
Where's the luau?
With love,
From your Mystical Mama
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